


Babylon

by valamerys



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Bedsharing, F/M, bonerville population: cassian, just some good ol fashioned tropeiness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9414953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valamerys/pseuds/valamerys
Summary: “If you don’t stop smirking at me, if you snore, or if I feel so much as an Illyrian *toe* end up on my side of the bed, I will push you right out,” Nesta warns him.[Nessian + classic THERE IS ONLY ONE BED WHAT DO. rating will go up w chapter 2  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)]





	

**Author's Note:**

> me: has at least 10 WIPs + multiple unfinished multichaps  
> me @ me: WRITE DUMB TROPES

Nesta takes one look at the room and pivots to glare at Cassian.

“I had nothing to do with this,” he says quickly, hands up in self-defense. “I asked for two, and when they said they only had one room left, I assumed they meant only one room _with two_.”

The single, solitary bed in this crappy inn room sits there innocuously. Mocking her.

“I’ll find somewhere else to stay, then,” she bites out.

“There’s no other inns around for miles, Nes,” Cassian says placatingly. “Believe me, we wouldn’t be staying in this craphole if there were.”

Nesta clenches her jaw in his direction. “Then I’ll find some strapping wealthy man to seduce and stay in _his_ bed for the night.” This is a ridiculous threat, at almost midnight when it’s freezing cold out and they’re stuck in an outpost in the middle of nowhere consisting of an inn, a brothel, and a bar, but Nesta’s exhausted and she’s _mad_ that now the possibility of literally sleeping with Cassian is something she has to deal with.

Cassian cocks his head at her, lips tugging upwards playfully. “It just so happens that _I’m_ a strapping, wealthy man very open to seduction. And I’m paying for this room, so technically it _is_ my bed.“

Nesta feels every murderous instinct in her sharpen to a wicked point.

“Oh, _well_ ,” she says, dripping with sarcastic sultriness. She drops her bag, begins to unbutton the top layer of her leathers, slinking towards him. “When you put it like _that_ …”

Cassian’s joking demeanor evaporates instantly; the mood of the room shifts on a dime. She stops a hair away from him, close enough that she can feel his breath on her lips. He must know she’s playing with him, but the big idiot is affected anyway like he always is, lips parted, eyes locked on her like he’s either going to devour her whole or fall to his knees.

Even now, when she’s pissed off and tired, there’s something that makes her feel alive in this game of theirs, their unique ability to get under each other’s skin. Nesta lets her eyes drag over his lips, flicker once demurely to his eyes before she pushes herself up on her tiptoes. Her lips brush his jaw calculatedly before whispering,  _“You’re sleeping on the floor.”_

She draws back with the smuggest glare she can muster to hammer home the point before sweeping away from him, grabbing her bag, and heading for the bathroom down the hall. It’s hard to tell through what he’s wearing, but she’s pretty sure she leaves the commander of the Illyrian armies with a hard-on.

 

————

 

Nesta pads back to their room feeling how absurdly cold the wooden floor is under her feet, even through woolen socks. The air is an alright temperature—magically, probably—but Nesta’s not risking anything, wearing thick leggings and a long-sleeved shirt to bed.

When she gets back, Cassian has already changed into something similar, and is arranging a blanket and a pillow on the floor near the foot of the bed.

He glances up at her as she enters. “Actually, as far as floors I’ve slept on, this one is reasonably soft,” he offers with a little smile. 

It’s meant to be a truce of sorts, but instead it just pokes a tiny, painful hole in Nesta’s animosity. It takes her a moment to place that its because she’s reminded of how often he’s _had_ to sleep on the floor—or the ground—in his life.

She tries to shake it off. “Good,” she says automatically, with a biting, deliberate undertone of _I don’t care._

The bed creaks miserably in protest as she gets into it, and it smells faintly of mildew. It might be big enough for two humans, or high fae, but there’s not much in the way of wing space. Just as well Cassian is on the floor, she thinks, seizing on the thought to fight the guilt that suddenly nips at her. Nesta stares up at the ceiling, bargaining with the sensation, resolutely refusing to feel bad for Cassian. He’s spent 500 years as a soldier in brutal conditions, surely he doesn’t really mind. This bed is sort of crappy anyway, he’s not missing much. But the floor’s _so_ cold…

Cassian gets up to extinguish the faelight near the door, and to give her a cheeky look as he does, like he somehow knows she’s having _feelings_. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

The nickname bring’s Nesta’s scowl back. “Goodnight, prick.”

He chuckles into the sudden darkness, and Nesta listens to the groaning of the wood and the sound of rustling wings as Cassian lays down and attempts to get comfortable.

He’s the one who wanted to take this trip, he’s the one who chose to stop in this shitty excuse for a town with an inexplicably full inn. She will absolutely not feel bad for him.

Except that she does, and the gnawing at her conscience won’t let her sleep, as three minutes pass and then five and then ten and she’s so tired her eyes ache. Cassian lets out the faintest grunt as he attempts to adjust himself comfortably and Nesta gives up, cursing every known higher power who might possibly be responsible for landing them in this situation.

A pillow lands squarely on Cassian’s face, and he removes it to see Nesta glowering down at him from the foot of the bed.

“Get up here.”

“What?”

“It’s fucking cold down there so get in the damn bed, _commander_ , before I change my mind.”

A big, dumb grin cracks Cassian’s big, dumb face as he gets up. “So Nesta Archeron doesn’t have a heart of stone after all.”

“Shut up and go to sleep,” Nesta says darkly, retreating decisively to what is now her half of the space as he clambers into bed with her, the mattress creaking loudly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” Cassian throws the blanket he’d had on the floor over the both of them, still smiling like an idiot at her, and Nesta already regrets this. “We can’t ruin your reputation for being an ice princess.”

“If you don’t stop smirking at me, if you snore, or if I feel so much as an Illyrian _toe_ end up on my side of the bed, I will push you right out,” Nesta warns him. Cauldron, he’s a furnace, she can feel his body heat even across the distance between them and she firmly ignores the instinct to move closer, to breathe in his scent, as achingly welcome as it is among these gross-smelling sheets.

He looks at her with fake alarm while adjusting his pillow. “What if I get cold and you have to cuddle me to keep me from freezing to death?”

“Then you’ll die,” Nesta snaps at him, rolling over so she doesn’t have to look at the way the muscles of his broad shoulders work as he settles in, “And I’ll be rid of a gigantic nuisance.”

Based on his voice, the smirk is back. “Ah, but then whose ass would you stare at during training?”

Nesta is forced to roll back so she can properly direct the full force of her hate for him with gaze alone.

“Az’s just isn’t as nice as mine,” he adds, unintimidated.

“I do not,” she grinds out, “stare at your ass.”

(Yes, she does. It looks good in leather, what is she supposed to do?)

He’s grinning again, more indulgently this time. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” 

Ugh, he’s _smug_ , smug Cassian is the worst Cassian. That’s it, she had a moment of weakness and if he’s going to be a dick about it—

“Do you recall that list of things that will get you pushed out of this bed?” Nesta hisses, sitting up for emphasis. “I’m adding _talking_ to it. One more word from you about your ass or _anything_ else and I will put you back on the floor. Violently.”

Cassian’s eyes still glint with amusement, but he takes a moment to process this and wisely decides not to speak. Nesta’s about to lay back down when Cassian raises his hand like he’s a schoolboy.

Nesta huffs in annoyance. “Fine, _what_?”

“Can I say goodnight again, at least?”

Nesta’s officially out of energy to deal with him. She lies back on her side, tucks the covers under chin. “If you _must_.”

“Goodnight, Nesta.”

She does’t even mean to say it, but it slips out on reflex: “Goodnight, Cassian.”

Nesta thinks that surely she won’t be able to sleep with this giant, hairy, overly warm body next to her, but she’s so worn out that she’s unconscious before she forms another coherent thought.

 

this fic & my others are also on [tumblr](http://valamerys.tumblr.com/tagged/mine) :)


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